EXCERPT (RAW) New Story! "Murderess flaunts justice, demands desert"

So not my art. Think its concept art for God of War III

Here's another story I just finished the draft on. This one is probably going to a magazine, but I'll post some excerpts on here at Patreon and link to the magazine that buys it. ENJOY! 
"Murderess flaunts justice; demands desert"
by Adrian Delgado
Copyright 2016
I asked around, but not too hard. They haven't heard tell of her death yet. I refused to Junar it: that old search ghost would certainly tell me.
Zatia had come, chained with nearly 50 pounds of links and gaurded by four soliders, to the harbor. Even her star sailer, the Degueo, was oversized for its cargo: a 50 gunner with 12 wings, something a real admiral would be given.
"Death by combat for Zatia; seats sold out in seconds" was my headline. They pared it down to the first clause, of course, but I am a bit verbose. Johnel assigned me to cover the sotry, and to have R'bad send live commentary to our cairn's crier, so that the subscribers could get a running commentary of the carnage on their tablets. The air was thick with information spirits running about delivering snippets, replies, unexpurgated opinions on the quality of the fried potatoes the stadium vendors were touting as vittles from the gods, and a whole sea of mental debris otherwise.
All that was 6, no 7 days ago, Berto. 7. I know, no execution has lasted this long since J'dalo's eight days, before you and I were even thought of.
On the first day, I didn't get to interview her. I wasn't told to, either, but I wanted to.
I mean, she is the first Nagal to be executed in five years, after the ruling class had been letting their blood and chaining them to work camps for 150 years going back. Fuck, I'm so worried I'm rambling.
Let me start where it matters.
Yes, I'm breaking this into sections. So you can read it easier. Its only 3k or so. There is no tl;dr.
Please read the whole thing, Berto. I mean it.

Never will something so glorious shake me as much as Zatia did.
Surrounding her were the Empresses women, bonafide First Phalanx, spears like the spokes of a bicycle and pointed inward at the burnt umber neck of their prisoner.
Berto, their eyes, the eyes of the phalanx were so strange.
They had an expressio of aggression, pride and disgust, as some Var still do when they see skin as dark as hers, but there was too much of it. The contempt was covering something up.
Fear. They were afraid.
Afraid of a woman wearing little more than chains and a few dirty rags. I thought they must have stripped her to embarrass her, but I found out from one of the ship crew that's the way they found her.
"Mind you," the grey bearded Sailor Sven said, puffing a pipe absently "She was a might cleaner. You didn't hear it from me, but I saw the soldiers take her out back, all 12 of 'em, to the warehouse yard to 'tenderize' her, y'know."
But he said only 10 soldiers came back. The soliders were expeditionary force mind you, but the sailor swore that there wasn't a solider that didn't have some lick. The lady was injured too, though her wounds were minor compared to what she gave the unit.
All I know is, the soldiers would not have fought Zatia one-on-one.
As she passed by, I could see a bruise rolling with her skin, her muscles hard and undulating under the slight dark spot. She was essentially in a cropt top and some thong (yes Berto, and thong), and a cut glistened with fresh blood on her belly. I was suprised that the soliders hadn't killed her, if nto by accident.
Then, I looked up, and saw black eyes examining me and an ivory smile suddenly flash like a knife.
My heart stopped, and some part of me knew I was going to die.
Zatia, the murderer, suddenly was pointing at me, and said in a sweet note. "Bring her to my dinner tonight. I want to eat her."
The phalanx barked for Zatia to move forward, their teeth clenched behind their helmets, they wanted any excuse to run her through, but they dared not. The empress wanted a public execution, and she always gets what she wants.
But Zatia kept her eyes locked to mind as she strode forward to the phaeton that would spirit her to the dome, where thousands were already filing in. In an hour, Zatia would be standing in the arena, and a rift to Nightmare or Strife or some other concept realm, would crackle the air and open, disgorging some novel freak into the coliseum, controlled by a piper. In a minute or less, the naked woman would die, perhaps bravely, but certainly hideously.
Of course, as you know, I was wrong.
You saw the fight, but I understand that her Majesty's cabinent had the information spirits shut down the feed soon after she lanced the Tyrannosaur. It went down in a heap, Zatia's streaking spear somehow finding the heart or somethign vital in the beast's vast chest. It might have had time to kill her anyway, had Zatia not climbed its leg and stood on its neck, shrieking hoarsely in victory.
She was a fool, Berto. So foolish that she stirred up a crowd of thousands of Imperials, of all races and genders and creeds, even her own, who paid good money to see her die.
I know why they cut the feed. They were chanting her name.

That night, while writing my article, R'bad said to me, in its distant voice. "My Gods, people are crazy over this. Everyone's socials are bursting with this crap."
"You think it's crap?" I asked R'bad. Of course it would, grouch.
"People flock for miles to pay to see someone cut in half. Half the people on the wire are saying she cheated, like they were disapointted that she is still whole! To be honest though, I'd think she'd have something up her sleeves too, if she had any."
I was going to comment, but a knock at the door cut the convo short.
I cracked the door open and saw Johnel. Yes, he came himself.
"You're not writing anything yet, are you?"
"Of course, why..." I stopped when I locked eyes with a Phalanx, glaring at me from behind Johnel.
"Grab your fetish" he said, quivering.


By reading Dragonlance, I know I am doomed.


It still hurts just as much as the first time. You know what I'm talking about. If you don't please read Dragons of Autumn Twilight and Dragons of Winter Night as soon as you can.

SPOILERS, by the by.

This isn't an advice post is it?

No, not terribly. This is an opinion, a thought even.

I know that I am totally doomed when I read Dragonlance. I may pick up the odd literary book. I may absorb the occasionally literary spec fic story. I may put down the odd, over done fantasy book.

But at the end of the day. When its all said and done, I have been forever affected by this book.

The Dragonlance Chronicles (by Margaret Wies and Tracy Hickman) were the first really series I read, all by my little self. It had been so long since I read them that they were practically new again when I read autumn and listened to winter, but some things I remembered well. Fizban's first "death", the undead in Drakenwood, the unicorn of prophesy, and the reveal of Silvara all come to mind.

These scenes have appeared, morphed and altered but still recognizable, in my games and my stories. The insecure leader, Tanis, the fatalistically loyal knight, the playfully flirtatious warrior, the taciturn wizard, the bloodthirsty mercenary and even the brat-growing-up have appears in many characters. Races, genders, and sexual orientations have been mixed up for fun and flavor, but those companions are there still. I suspect, when I get to finishing the Drizzt novels, that I shall find many elements in there as well.

But angsty-boy, what do you mean by doomed?

So,, I'm listening to a great story by Nelson DeMille, called "The Quest". Its a grail quest book, but has alot of history in it, particulalry the downfall of Haile Selassie I, the last Emperor of Ethiopia, the last of King Solomon's 2000 year dynasty, and the messiah of the Rastafarians. Great book, go get it, especially if your running a Mummy/Romancing the Stone/Indiana Jones type game.

But my point is this. Whenever, almost without fail, in this book at least, someone makes a comment, this is what the next line will be.

Frank didn't respond.

Vivian did not reply.

He made no comment.

But, is this an actual problem? No, not really. The story is great. What I'm seeing here is an author's quirk. For me, it seems to be structuring sentences backward and alot of very purple prose. Anyone who has read me can probably say that and more.

But I imagine Nelson is the type of man that like the strong, silent types, or at least doesn't cotton to those who have witty or "witty" things to say. His prose is not flowery either, but it is powerful.

Me, though, I grew up on the drama, and some would call melodrama, of Dragonlance. Ray Bradbury fucked me up too: half of his sentences make no sense at first, but they are artful. Behold..

"And then he shut up, for he remembered last week and the two white stones staring up at the ceiling and the pump-snake with the probing eye and the two soap faced men with the cigarettes moving in their mouths when they talked ." Fahrenheit 451

He's a fricking mad man! But I love him. RIP Bradbury.

These quirks are the frameworks of an authors voice, and while having voice means you are going to turn alot of people away, it also means your going to have fans for life, because they can't get that voice anywhere else. That's why authors can do rehashes of Pride and Predjudice, because they all do Elizabeth Bennet just a bit differently.

Dragonlance, Sabriel, LoTR, Red, Harry Potter, Something Wicked This Way comes and many other books have carved my voice into something that may change, but will take a while to do so. And I don't need to compromise either.

Still, this means that there will be moments in the future when the general trends will crave certain stories from me and then other times will call for different tales. A book I publish next year may be damned one lambasted one epoch and lauded the next. My attachment to alteration may by an ailment to my advancement, or it might be really clever.


So, really, I just needed to say it. Afterall, that's why we write fiction. To make an observation on the world, maybe even a judgement. 

All I can really say is that sometimes I wonder if what I write is the right thing to do, but I know that it is. I have to write the story in my mind.

Will I have to change that, challenge that, to grow though? I wonder...


Oops.I made a Flash Fiction.

Have you ever accidentally wrote something else when you were supposed to write another thing?

I just did that. I was trying to work on my project for a Golden Fleece anthology themed on the works of Jules Verne, and it wasn't happening automatically so I did some free-writing. And I laid me an egg.

Its with the proofreader right now, and after that, my $1+ patrons will get to see it. Go check it out at patreon.com/murky_master 

I really actually like the story! Its so... so... short! That's rather unusual for me, but it actually ties itself up quite well. Really and fun story: I'm sure you'll love it!
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